


Left for the Wolves

by lolikitty



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dom/sub, Elves, F/M, Humiliation, Piss, Public Sex, Rape, Urination, Voyeurism, Watersports, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves, slavegirl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolikitty/pseuds/lolikitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scientist watches as a young elf maiden is enslaved to a werewolf, and forced to serve him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maiden

You watch from afar as the shifter stalks his prey, intent on the fair-haired maiden feeding the flowers at the base of the tree. You have been watching her practice her arts, spreading the pollen from one blossom to another to promote new growth. You have come here to study this strange and elusive species—the Sex Elves. Unlike the Blood Elves who are masters of the battlefields or the Wind Elves with their lavender hair and coalition with the breeze, the Sex Elves are known very little of, residing in the heart of the Verdant Forest. It is said that the researchers who come to study them are...taken somehow, forced to submit to their wills. It is whispered among your colleagues that they have sexual sway over all things, that they can make anyone, man or woman, obey them merely by coupling with them. They are said to hunt by seducing their prey, and in the midst of intercourse, they feast. That the youngest are herbivores until they reach sexual maturation, at which point they become deadly. That the rites to become carnivorous are unspeakable.

But it is also said that should they be taken against their wills before their time, they are enslaved to that which has claimed them. That their spirits are driven to serve their rapist eternally.

And so you wait with bated breath. You will be the first to make it out. You will document your findings carefully, precisely, and you have learned so much in your first morning here. And now you will learn another secret. You watch the predator hunker low in the foliage, his eyes intent on the fragile girl. His pelt ripples with hunger, and as he inches forward, liquid in the shadows, you can just make out his erection, straining at the air.

He is in half-form, his lower body and groin man-like, the rest lupine. His muzzle is bunched into a growl, his canines beared. He has nearly reached the tree the small elven girl kneels by, her sharp chin tilted to one side and her flaxen hair sparkling in the sunlight, the copper and bronze woven through the delicate strands of honey and pale brown.

He is so fluid in his movements, a single, elegant motion taking him from his hunting crouch to her side, as she is lifted up and slammed into the tree. Grabbing her by the calves, he forces her legs wide and slams his hips into hers, her shoulders pinned to the trunk of the tree. One of his massive hands pins her backwards by the chest, his fingers spanning across her throat. Her effervescent white dress slips easily upward as he rubs the length of his dick across her entrance, growling deep in his throat. She has already begun to scream, something melodic in the cry of panic to match her delicate features and nearly painful beauty.

The other elf who was kneeling nearby, another prepubescent, springs to her feet, crying out to the girl. She runs forward a step, but staggers to a stop when the wolf turns his head to snarl loudly at her, his teeth flashing amidst his slate fur.

Without further hesitation, he pushes roughly forward, tearing another cry from her lips. She spreads easily under him as he begins to pound into her ferally, her body still suspended bridge-like between the wolf and the tree. She grows ever more pliant as he forces himself inside of her again and again, her shoulders slouching against the bark.

The other elf runs off deeper into the village, her cries for help echoing off the birches.

You would interfere, but you want so desperately to know if the legends are true. And besides, you have been taught since your first cryptozoology class—never interact with the wildlife.

But the werewolf only plunges deeper, growling deep in his chest as she ceases to fight, her body submitting for her. He strains forward a final time, rearing his head back as he ejaculates inside of her, his member sunk inside her to the hilt.

By this time, either the girl has lost consciousness or her body has entered a kind of stasis, her limbs limp and her head lolling. When he has finished, he pulls out and drops her to the ground, watching passively as she falls on her side on the moss, one arm outstretched beneath her flaxen locks. Grasping the base of his still-hard cock, he stands above her and releases a steady flow of piss onto the crown of her head. Claiming her, marking his territory. He must have prepared for such a claiming because the unbroken stream seems endless, the liquid splashing over her brow.

 

By the time help arrives, the wolf is long gone, the ferns trembling. What help arrives decides to leave her where she is. She is an outcast now, her purity destroyed and her spirit claimed. Best to leave her to the wolves.


	2. Property

You want to know if the wolf is interested in keeping his new property, or if you just watched the one-night-stand of the animal kingdom. While you wait, you record the entire encounter in your field journal complete with diagrams. By the time you’ve finished your sketches, you have your own erection to deal with. Better not think about it.

When she awakes, she pushes herself up delicately, touching two fingers to her forehead. She sniffs at the liquid on her fingers, scowling gingerly, as if with a headache. She looks broken.

She rises from her bed of moss and heads off into the forest, through the dappled light filtering through the canopy. You follow her in parallel, slipping quietly along beside her in the underbrush. You are sure she would hear you were it not for her impairment.

She finally reaches a small pool, fed by a near-silent waterfall. She slips out of what remains of her white gossamer and into the crystal-clear water, diving to the bottom gracefully. You watch her scrub at her scalp underwater, the golden tendrils fanning out around her. She dives and resurfaces several times, scrubbing at her skin determinedly. 

You take the time to admire her lithe body, the ivory skin and the pale coral nipples standing erect. Her thighs are slim and strong, her feet arched delicately. Her long fingers tangle into her tresses and her lips part with her efforts. 

Dear lord, your pants are tight.

You are so distracted you don’t see his entrance either.

He lifts her from the pool by her hair, ignoring her gasp as he drags her onto the moss. She is thrown onto her back, her body dripping and he kneels between her legs, entering her in a swift motion. You check his markings against the sketches in your books, made only moments ago. Yep, it’s the same male. How could he be up for another go already? You scramble for your journal to make a note ending in a question mark. 

He comes quickly, one hand pressed against her throat. Her back arched in pain, she collapses when he pulls out and stands above her, only to be dragged onto her knees by her sodden hair.

His hand still tangled in her locks, pulling her head back, he leans down to her, their eyes locked.

“Do you ever think you will be able to wash my ownership away?” His voice is condescending and deeply smooth, edged with just the faintest growl. “You are mine and you will learn this. You will never be able to wash me off your body because I will mark you anytime I see fit, which will be constantly. Hear me well, little slut.”

Releasing her hair, he stands above her, towering over her frail form. He once again grasps himself by the base, and lets forth a stream of piss that hits her squarely in the sternum. His eyes remain on her tear-filled ones as he empties himself onto her chest, his urine splashing the underside of her chin, flowing down over her breasts and stomach and running between her legs, making her shudder. Again, it is a solid half-minute at least until he is finished. You count your breaths.

When he is satisfied, he drops his hand and again commands her. “Now show your deference.”

There is much fumbling and hesitation from the usually graceful elf as she changes position, squatting before him, thighs apart. She looks up at him nervously and back down again, afraid to meet his eyes.

With shaking fingers, she spreads open her labia and aims herself before releasing a flow of piss onto his right foot.

Ah, you have heard of this custom. It is an old one, no longer used among the elves. It is used to show submission to another, most commonly practiced by slaves, concubines and daughters of the more barbaric species, such as werewolves. Occasionally it is implemented to humiliate the loser of a battle or for other such degrading practices, but then only from a standing position. Other species urinate on the right foot of their temple statues, signifying deference to the gods. 

Her cheeks color a deep coral as she pisses a long stream onto him, finishing after she is empty.

“You will learn,” he growls.


	3. Slut

You follow their progress through the forest. The captor, having transformed completely into a hulking wolf, walks with strangely graceful steps through the trees, his paws silent in the undergrowth. She trails behind him, head down and hands clasped behind her back as he commanded her. She left her dress on the rocks beside the pool, her bare breast now painted in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. 

They walk a long time, leaving the elven village far behind. 

After two hours, finally, the wolf stops a moment. You immediately procure your notebook, snatching the pencil from behind your ear. You watch, poised to record the scene unfolding before you.

The wolf sniffs at the base of a pine tree, the birch trees having grown more and more scarce, you notice, since leaving the elves’ domain. Satisfied with the scent, he takes a step forward and lifts his leg, spraying the trunk with urine. When that is done, he turns back to the elf, and once again lifts his leg, pissing on her with the same nonchalance. He must be about to cross into wolf territory, you decide, both remarking the borders and his new property. 

You are trying ever harder to remain scientifically aloof.

 

They walk deeper into the wolves’ land, the stands of trees growing denser and the species rapidly changing. Here, they are mostly pine and massive lindens, the trunks dark in the shadow from the thick cover overhead.

The wolf, prisoner in tow, eventually comes to a clearing. You cannot believe what you see before you.

The clearing is ringed by six massive oaks, spreading their dark leaves over the entire space. In the center of the ring is what looks like a sprawling throne, formed by the roots of the six sentinels as they erupt from the ground and twine together into the semblance of a chair. Just off into the woods on the other side of the clearing, you can make out the entrance to a cave, the mouth only visible by the deeper blackness that yawns from it.

The wolf strides into the clearing, his form changing as he walks, fluidly becoming bipedal and yet retaining his body of fur, until he is a humanoid wolf, still with hulking shoulders and chest. His hands are those of a man, while his feet still appear lycan. His still fully-erect manhood too looks human, only much, much larger. You begin to feel truly sorry for the elf.

He crosses to the throne and climbs into its proffered surface, settling comfortably.The elf stands before him, just within his reach. “Kneel, bitch,” he commands her. She complies, her head bowed.

The wolf bares his teeth and snarls loudly. The trees echo with the sound.

They move so stealthily I do not see them at first. Then they begin to filter out of the forest, disengaging from the shadows. There are at least forty wolves, pelts of all colors rippling with muscle. All of them have come fully transformed, padding forward on four legs toward their leader. Alpha, you suppose. Your pencil flies across the paper.

They gather in a ragged semicircle in front of the throne, their eyes trained on the slender creature kneeling at their king’s feet. There is hunger apparent in their eyes. You realize it is probably a good idea to get off the ground, and glance up at the tree you are sheltered behind. It is a hulking elm with enough branches to climb. You put your field journal in your teeth and ready yourself. Better to wait until they are not silent. You will need some noise to hide your clamboring.

You don’t have to wait long. The wolf on the throne begins speaking, his powerful voice enough to cover your ascent. Still, you listen intently as you begin to climb.

“Warriors. Welcome.” The gathered wolves growl in response, the thunder rolling out from their chests. “I ventured to the elves’ forest, and I took this lovely slut from them. Isn’t she beautiful?” 

You finally reach a good vantage point in the limbs of the tree. You perch comfortably and open your notebook in your lap, hurriedly scribbling to record the alpha’s words. 

“She will make a good addition to the harem, I think. No one is to touch her until I say so. I need to ensure she is trained well. But fear not. Soon she will be bending over at your any whim.” Several of the wolves growl again at that, and looking closer you can see all of them are hard, their cocks dripping onto the ground. You notice, too, that even fully in wolf form, their genitalia appears humanoid, massive it may be. 

Before he continues, the alpha leans forward and grabs the girl by the hair, hauling her forward. “Suck,” he commands, as he forces her mouth toward his erect cock. She again is obedient as she begins to lap at the head of his dick, hands resting lightly on his thighs. 

“I have gathered you to discuss the north boundary war. My spies have informed me that they are running short on prey on their side of the river, and I do not intend on letting them stalk our hunting grounds. I am going to increase the patrols to five wolves for the night watch. We have enough mouths to feed with how many females whelped this season.” So this was some sort of council meeting, you realize. You are witnessing the politics of an almost unobserved species. You cannot believe your luck.

You sit in the tree for almost another full hour, recording every word spoken by both the alpha and the other warriors as all manner of subjects are discussed. Sometime in the midst of the proceedings, the alpha pulls the elf into his lap. He turns her around and has her sit on his hips behind his member, spreading her legs to place one foot on each of his knees. Leaning down, he whispers something into her ear.

With the entire clearing silent, she begins pissing onto the wolf’s fully hard cock, the stream hitting the shaft squarely, before flowing down over the roots of the throne. This custom is completely foreign to you. You quickly sketch out a diagram of their posture. You can feel your own cock straining against your zipper. You figure it wouldn’t hinder you any more to free it, so you hurredly undo your pants and pull forth your painfully hard dick.

When she is done pissing, he grabs her around the waist with a single hand and turns her to face him. Lifting her easily, he guides her down onto his cock. 

“Fuck me, slut.”

Hesitantly at first, she begins to swirl her hips. You know, despite her virginity, she has been trained since youth in the arts of pleasure, and the motion is natural for her. As she continues to move gracefully in his lap, hands grasping his shoulders, he ignores her, looking over her head to continue the meeting.

 

You do not notice until you are near orgasm that you are stroking your own cock along with her motions. Silently, you come, spilling out over your hand.


End file.
